15 Story Detective, April 1950 — page 112: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

cEE 112 _ I pushed a button on my monitor panel in the control room and Bud White’s in- gratiating voice nuzzled at my ear through the loud speaker : “And now you swell people out there,” the disc jockey said in a tone that oozed with honey, “we're going to play you a brand new platter.” He nodded his head at me through the glass. “How about the KG record, Johnny?” he asked right “on air’’—so the whole listening audience was in on it. I wigwagged “can do” back at him and ~ he said, inte the microphone. “That's my assistant [’m talking to folks —fohnny Carlson, a great engineer.” He was smiting. “I dont know what I’d do without him.” { felt all warm inside even though [ knew the guy was just buttering me up fer his listening audience. But that was Bud. “About that platter,” he was saying, “it’s Ken Gavin's latest, you should par- don the expression, recording. RIDERS OF THE SAGE it’s called, but any re- semblance between this and a good record is purely coincidental. Now, before we play it for you, let’s talk about it, a little, ham 2” [ recognized the tone he was using and f knew what was coming, so [ snapped off the speaker button and with it Bud’s voice. He looked away from the microphone and his large, expressionless eyes fastened on me behind the glass. His thin, lips formed a slow smile and his white, bony hand moved swiftly with a jerky motion, thin forefinger pressed against the side of his thumb forming the letter O. Mechanically { returned the “coming through okay” signal and leaned wearily back m my chair, watching the bug-eyed little shrimp in Studio 12, calmly. mouth- ing his disc jockey chatter at the wage all- night audience. Where Bud got all his info ssc [ =e guessed, but he sure had tabs on every- cohen Mi “I 5 St cae "Banicine body—and he did more than play records. Politics, sports, and theatre were his field —but he wandered. He made plenty friends and beaucoup enemies. But that’s probably how he dug up his dirt. He shoveled deeper than Winchell and he wasn't afraid to pull all the stops either. What he was doing now was the thing that Bud did best—ripping a fellow artist to shreds. This was why Bud White had become the biggest name in all-night broadcast- ing. Sure they got a kick out of hearing him explode bomb shells on graft in city politics; looking through slimy keyholes with him at the social set; and getting the inside doings on the big time and small time mobsters. But this was what they turned him in for—to hear him annihilate a star’s career, After you’ve been in this business a while you get pretty hard-boiled, but just the same it was tough to stomach what Bud had done to the careers of dozens of talented people in show business—but a job’s a job. Being with Bud paid good dough, and besides [ couldn’t help it if I liked the puy. I reached over and selected Ken Gavin's newest release from the record rack and slipped it on the turntable. My finger touched the speaker button and Bud's voice again filled the small control room. “Of course,” it was saying with a sar- castic whine, “I’ve got nothing personal apainst Kea—’”’ Personal! I cocked my ears at the loud speaker on the wall above my head. Was he kidding? It was personal all right— and her name was Honey Smith. GE had pink skin and red lips and all the other equipment that went with it. Honey was the featured dancer at the swank Velvet Club and she was the only doll who had top hitling with Ken Gavin in the romance department. But that didn’t bother Bud any; he tried to latch on to Gomichbooks, (E@)